


You’re Asking Me and I’m Telling You Yes

by paperswan



Series: Where I want to keep existing. [1]
Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Character Study, Falling In Love, Feels, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, POV First Person, Pining, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23199148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperswan/pseuds/paperswan
Summary: Every time I made you laugh, I got a warm feeling in my stomach. It was like drinking, but better, because the good feeling didn’t go away and leave me sick. Just a butterfly in my stomach. A butterfly.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Series: Where I want to keep existing. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669249
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	You’re Asking Me and I’m Telling You Yes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I’ve never posted anything I’ve written online before, so I’m kind of nervous. But I don’t think anyone’s really reading this, so I’ll chill out. Anyway. Just some soft and sad Theo/Boris because I finished The Goldfinch a couple days ago, and I love their relationship—I feel like there’s a lot we didn’t see. Writing this made me sad, but I hope someone likes it <3

I haven’t seen you in a month. It’s been a month since you left. I wish I could say I knew it would happen, but I didn’t. Really, I realise I don’t know shit.

Before you left, before your dad died, before I met a girl and all of everything went to hell...me and you was always the thing. Me and you was like the most strong thing in the world, yes? Like nothing could change.

We spent every day together. We sat with shoulders touching in the front seat on the bus, same rush of voices behind us, same heat all around. Sweating so much, it was another layer of skin. I remember stepping off the bus, a hundred times of it, a hundred suns burning my eyes into my skull, a hundred groans as we walked and complained, a hundred of your laughs at my stupid jokes.

Every time I made you laugh, I got a warm feeling in my stomach. It was like drinking, but better, because the good feeling didn’t go away and leave me sick. Just a butterfly in my stomach. A butterfly.

When days passed, your hair got longer, your skin got golder, and we got closer. There was less space between us. Less space to cross. Arms and hands and feet. Laughing. Throwing up. Laying on the floor, drunk. I turned to see you next to me. The side of your face, soft and fuzzy because my eyes are crazy from all the shit in my brain and you laugh at something I don’t even hear myself say, always laughing, always crinkles in the corners of your eyes and glasses that I reach out to pull off your face.

“What’re you doing that for?” you say. Your voice is messy like honey on the countertop.

I pull off the glasses, careful, my hands shaking like leaves in light rain, and I say, “Just for because.”

“But why?”

“To see your face.”

We are close now.

Your frayed hair is like feathers, and you have tired blue around your eyes. You look like little bird or some little soft cub for me to keep safe—here, I will keep you safe, stay quiet so they don’t hear, shh, don’t worry—

I think I kiss you. I know I do. More than one. Messy kisses, because I am shitfaced, like you say, I am gone to fuckland...

You have dry lips, rough, not soft at all. Cracked, and you lick them and it makes them worse. I kiss your dry and cracked lips and it is warm and there are more butterflies.

“What’re you doing—?”

I stop. “Can I...? Is okay?”

You look at me. Your eyes are like drowning, like a sky at the top of a planet. I have seen you smile and laugh, but I have never seen you be not sad. The sad lives all around you like a wall. I want to get through this wall.

You are looking at me for so long. And then you close your eyes and move closer, and this time you kiss me. You taste like vodka and orange juice. Your hands are on my body, us touching in the yellow dark night.

We are so close. I have never been so close to a person in my life. I can feel you everywhere, like a sickness. You smell like cotton and salt. 

“Boris...I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Our foreheads are touching. “Stay here, okay?”

“Yes.”

You were always asking me that, to stay, like you really thought I would leave. But I never would have left. I was too strong attached. My soul was tangled up with yours. I said so many things. I said, Potter, you will make me crazy. I said, Potter, I never thought I would love a person like I love you, you asshole, how could you make me love you so much? I told you all the things in my stupid head because I was drunk, and you were drunk, and we would forget. Sometimes I hoped you would remember, just so I could know what would happen. Did you remember?

Now you are not here. Now you are not with me. I sleep alone. Is nothing. Is nothing. When I hear you asking me to stay with you, it is not real. Is not real anymore. No more touching arms or hands or lips, no more bloody laughing, no more singing at the sky. But if you were here right now, and you are asking me to go with you, I say yes. If you ask me, I’ll say yes. Always ask me. I’ll always tell you yes.


End file.
